


Accio Inevitability

by StellaMachiavelli



Category: Interview With the Vampire (1994), Queen of the Damned (2002), Vampire Chronicles - All Media Types, Vampire Chronicles - Anne Rice
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Gen, M/M, inevitable harry potter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2018-12-05 12:07:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11577771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StellaMachiavelli/pseuds/StellaMachiavelli
Summary: Our little fandom needs some Harry Potter time...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Heavily based on the amazing headcanons of @sangcreole on tumblr, who kindly allowed me to play with them. :) 
> 
> Lestat, Armand and Louis are seventh years in this story, so 17-18. Daniel is 16. The age of consent in the UK is 16 but there won't be anything too heavy in this fic because I know it isn't the same in the US and Oz.

“Apahhrecium!”

“ _Aparecium_ ! You’re going in too _French_ on the second syllable.”

“I’ll go in too French on _you_.”

The red-haired boy pulled back from his arrogant classmate with a dignified air. “Aparecium!” he said decisively, striking the book with his wand. He watched with satisfaction as ink slowly unfurled on the page, reading _you have passed_ in beautiful script. He raised an eyebrow at his classmate, who quickly scrubbed the look of wonder from his face. “Your turn, Lestat.”

“C’est rien,” he said with a shrug. He tapped his own book, and commanded it: “Apahhrecium!” To his utter disgust, the page remained blank. He glowered at his classmate as he fell about laughing. “Oh? You think it is funny, Armand? Giving me a faulty book?”

“I didn’t give you it,” countered Armand. “Professor Lightner did. A poor wizard blames his tools--” he said, tapping the book with his wand. “Aparecium! There, you see? Easy.”

“ _Aguamenti!”_ seethed Lestat, pointing his wand at his tormenter. He burst into laughter as water spurted into Armand’s face, sending him sprawling from his chair.

“Ten points from Slytherin,” said Professor Lightner, without looking up from his desk. “Mr. Ivanovich, please return to your seat.”

“Well done!” snarled Armand, shooting a hateful glance at Lestat as he clambered back onto his stool. “Ten points, yet again. We’re going to finish fourth at this rate!”

“Why are you so bothered?” said Lestat. “Every year, you lose.”

“Every year, _we_ lose. And it’s _always_ because of you! You’ve cost us 70 points already this term, and we’re all of a week in!”

Lestat patted his hand, feigning hurt when he pulled away. “There, there, little one. Shouldn’t you be more focused on your N.E.W.T.S?”

“I think you should be. If anyone was likely to have to resit, it’s you,”he said Armand. He flailed at Lestat and smacked his hands away when he ruffled his hair. “Anyway, this may not be your final year once you fail, but it _is_ mine. I _will_ have the cup.”

Lestat shrugged. “You really care about this Head Boy nonsense, huh?”

“I seem to recall you throwing a temper tantrum when you were passed over for the honour,” he said wickedly. He clapped his hand around Lestat’s wand as he raised it, and smiled. “Don’t you dare.”

 

* * *

 

“And Rowena Smith deftly blocks an attack from Katie Aitchinson, but here’s Jessica Reeves soaring past them both to chase that elusive snitch--!’

Armand rested his chin on one hand, watching the commentator next to him with a small secret smile.

“But as ever, Lestat de Lioncourt - can you hear the cheers from Slytherin -- is hot on the tail of the snitch, and, yeah, there goes Nicolas de L’Enfent, shoved away by him yet again and sustaining his third injury in two games--”

“Give me that, Daniel!” said Armand, wrestling the microphone from him. “...As once again, Lestat de Lioncourt shows a careless and frankly tiresome lack of regard for the rules of fair play, just as he does with everything, the big, lumbering idiot…”

“Armand Ivanovich,” said a calm voice behind him. “Do you think this is a good example to show a fifth year like Mr. Molloy?”

Armand glanced back at the teacher and nodded solemnly. “No, Mr. Romanus.” He coughed a little, and continued his commentary. “But the snitch is particularly feisty today, and up it goes, soaring towards the Great Library--”

Daniel scribbled something on a piece of paper and passed it to to him, a hopeful expression on his face. Armand opened it with one hand as he held the microphone with the other:

_Can I be in your club yet?_

He shook his head, no, and felt a malicious twinge of pleasure at Daniel’s crestfallen face. “You have to work harder than that for it,” he mouthed, and then turned back to the game.

 

* * *

 

Lestat could swear there was nothing like the pleasure of the chase, the sheer thrill of pursuing his quarry and then having it surrender, but being cheered on by dozens of students as he did so undoubtedly sweetened the experience for him.

He decided on a breathtaking dive straight towards the ground and the low-flying snitch, enjoying the gasps of horror and then delight as he pulled up at the last moment and then went soaring into the blue skies once again. He whipped his wild leonine hair about him, knowing that the winds flattered him.

But there was nothing like the pursuit, and he fixed on the snitch with a hunter’s eye, wheeling and careening this way and that, his hand outstretched and mere inches away as they rounded the Great Library.

“Come here--!” he growled.

The snitch had other ideas, though, and it flew straight towards an ornate library window before darting away even as Lestat closed in on it.

He gasped in horror, bracing himself for the pain, before he slammed into the window and rebounded so hard against it that he had to grab onto the rough stone ledge to catch his breath. He took a great heaving sigh and looked up. His mouth fell open; he was staring right into the greenest eyes and the most lovely face he had ever seen.

The boy on the other side of the glass scowled and turned away, returning to his book.

Lestat was stung: what kind of boy didn’t come to cheer on Hogwarts’ best seeker, let alone melt when confronted by the hottest person in the entire school? A burst of wounded fury shot through him, and he made to knock on the window again, when the snitch whizzed right past him and he was in pursuit once more.

Another time, perhaps; Lestat de Lioncourt never abandoned the chase.


	2. Chapter 2

Friday mornings, with the first lesson being double Advanced Potions, were Armand’s favorite time of the week. He was always up early on a Friday, and would sit in the Slytherin common room with a cup of summer tea (no matter the season) made of green tea, fresh peppermint and chamomile, which his mother sent him direct from Ukraine each semester. 

He would ensconce himself into one of the comfortable armchairs and memorize one new potion from his potions book, testing himself on the combinations and effects and dangers before he allowed himself to turn to the next page. Sometimes he would stare out of the common room windows, which fed on to the depths of the Hogwarts lake, and imagine the lake as one giant cauldron, in which he experimented gleefully.

He had come close to being expelled in his first year for being a little too enthusiastic and trying out a poisonous potion on his classmates Eleni and Laurent, which had rendered the latter mute for two weeks. But he was a gifted student, and Mr. Romanus had petitioned on his behalf for him to stay.

But still he read up on poisons. There was no harm in  _ reading _ , after all.

He was always first into the classroom for Potions class, though he picked the desk closest to the right wall, near the back, and practically always in shadow because of the arches in the wall. He liked to judge and watch his classmates from the sidelines, but more importantly, he discouraged anyone from sitting next to him because he did not like other students messing up his meticulous recipes.

This was the first Potions class of the semester - Mr. Romanus had only just returned from some urgent business in Italy, and Armand was eager to begin. He watched with relish as his fellow N.E.W.T.S. entrants, the pick of the seventh year, filed into class. Of course, Lestat hadn’t made the cut for this class, something which made it all the more sweeter.

Presently, Mr. Romanus came striding into the classroom, great leather book of potions under one arm. He was followed by a thin, tall boy with black hair, who paused meekly at the front and looked at their teacher helplessly. He muttered something to Mr. Romanus.

“What was that?” asked Mr. Romanus distractedly.

"The room is full,” said the boy, his voice laced with anxiety.

Mr. Romanus looked around the classroom, caught Armand’s eye, and gave him a wry look. “There’s a spare seat next to Mr. Ivanovich over there -- see, in the corner?”

The boy nodded, and sloped over to Armand.

Armand did his best to exude quiet menace.

“May I sit here?” asked the boy, gesturing to the chair next to him. He had a French accent.

Armand tsked. He was really very much done with French people. “If you have to,” he said eventually.

“Thank you,” said the boy, and a slow, lazy smile spread across his somber face. It brightened and softened his cold beauty, and his eyes glimmered with innocent relief.

Armand’s resistance melted even as he grew furious with his own treacherous heart.  _ Really _ ? He admonished himself.

“My name’s Louis,” said the boy, offering him a pale hand.

Armand eyed him critically. He looked like some poisonous thing, all dark green and deathly and white, the essence of Slytherin itself, though he wore Ravenclaw colors.

“Armand,” he said, taking Louis’s hand, a little startled at the warmth and strength of the boy’s grip. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you--”

“I transferred this year,” whispered Louis, as Mr. Romanus moved to the classroom door to close it and begin the lesson. “I was at Beauxbatons before.”

“Then why come here?”

“Why, for Mr. Romanus’s lesson,” said Louis seriously. “I mean, Runes is my favorite, but I need this subject, too. Did you know that he is supposed to be the best of the Potions masters? Beauxbatons couldn’t compare --”

“Did you--”

“But please, let’s not talk now. I don’t want to miss anything in this class.” He gave Armand a quick smile to soften his words.

Armand tapped him on the arm. “Do you-- would you like to follow my notes?” he asked. “I don’t mind sharing.” 


	3. Chapter 3

Daniel flipped his notebook to a new page and scribbled the date and time in the margin. There was a slight breeze, and he placed one hand on the paper irritably. He had wanted to interview indoors, but it was a sunny September day and Jesse, who had her great-aunt Mekare’s love of the outdoors, refused to spend her lunch break inside. “So what’s it like, your grandmother being Hogwarts head?” he said.

“It’s okay, I s’pose.”

“Come on, Jesse,” he pressed. “You can give me more than that.”

Jesse scrubbed at her nose irritably. “I don’t know, Dan.”

“Well, do you find it hard, fitting in?”

“Why would I?” She ran a hand through her hair, then began to study it for split ends. “Maharet isn’t above corporal punishment, is she? Remember what happened when David Jones called me a teacher’s pet?”

“See, that’s exactly what I—“

“Hey, Red.”

Jesse’s face brightened. She didn’t notice Daniel’s raised eyebrow, nor how he began to write furiously as Lestat sauntered towards her, wound his arm around her and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Hey, ‘Stat. We haven’t talked much since we got back.”

He shrugged and gave her a dazzling smile. “I’ve been busy, Cherie.”

“Too busy to send me a letter during the entire summer holidays?” she said lightly.

“Well… erm… you know,” he coughed, and turned to Daniel. “What are you doing?”

“He’s asking me about Maharet punishing unruly and vexatious students,” said Jesse.

Lestat paled. “Did she hear about the thing?”

“What thing?” asked Daniel.

“Nothing,” he said quickly. “Hey, what are you writing?” He tried to snatch the pad from Daniel, but he was too fast and deftly tucked it away in his robe. Lestat wasn’t dissuaded, and plunged a hand in after it, but Daniel punched him in the arm. “Hey!”

“Gerrof! Stop it, alright? It’s just journalism stuff!”

“What kind of journalism stuff?” asked Lestat, pulling back and sitting down next to Jesse. He tried to put his arm around her, but she pushed him away.

“I interview interesting people for the school newspaper,” said Daniel.

Lestat frowned. “Why haven’t you interviewed me yet?”

“Uh… I’m working my way up to you.”

“Maybe it’s because you loudly broadcast everything you do anyway,” said Jesse. “Except when it comes to the summer holidays.” She glowered at him.

Lestat turned to Daniel with a desperate expression on his face. “H-how long have you been doing this?”

“Have you never picked up a copy of the school paper?” asked Daniel, shaking his head when Lestat shrugged in response. “I’ve done it since I started. In first year.”

Lestat’s mouth fell open. “And you haven’t interviewed me!” he cried.

Daniel shifted uncomfortably. “Well … there’s a lot of students to get through.”

Jesse scowled. “You don’t need to tell Lestat  _ that _ .”

Lestat jumped up. “I’ve gotta go. I’ve – got some business – to attend to, or something.”

 

* * *

Lestat meandered through the grounds, chatting with various students and feuding with others.  His eyes roved restlessly over the people there, searching.

To his delight, sitting under a tree reading was that strange and beautiful boy. Lestat stood back and admired him; he had begun to think he was simply idealizing the other boy, that maybe the glass in the window had flattered him. But here he was, and if anything he was even more beautiful, with that glossy black hair and that gorgeous frame. He sat with one knee up, which served to emphasize his legs. Lestat couldn’t wait to run his hands up and down them, and kiss that sensuous mouth.

He straightened his clothes, ruffled his hair to give himself that tousled golden mass of wild hair that always worked, and walked seductively over to the boy.

His quarry didn’t look up.

He coughed loudly, but the boy didn’t seem to notice.

Gritting his teeth, he rounded the tree and casually leaned against it.  “Hey,” he prompted.

The boy looked up from his book, his eyes widening. “Hello…” he said warily. He wore a Ravenclaw cloak; Lestat smirked. Intellectuals were his favorite.

“What are you reading?”

“Oh,” said the boy, a faint blush coming to his cheeks. “Just a novel…”

“Ah, you’re French!” laughed Lestat. “So am I!” He plonked himself down next to the other boy, who moved away from him a little. Lestat didn’t care; it made it more interesting. He patted the boy’s knee. “I haven’t seen you here before,” he said in French.

“I transferred – from Beauxbatons,” replied the boy in English. “This is my first week here.”

“ _ Enchanté _ ,” said Lestat, offering his hand. The boy slipped a pale slim hand into his and shook, then pulled away a little forcefully when Lestat did not let go.

“Yes, likewise,” said the boy a little distractedly. He gazed into the distance, then turned to look Lestat. His eyes were deep, true green, like lazers.

Lestat shifted uncomfortably. “I’m from Auvergne – like, the proper, ancient Auvergne, not the stupid new muggle boundaries. Rolling hills and old castles, that sort of thing. It’s pretty cool.” The boy continued to stare at him, his eyes unblinking and curious, like a cat’s. “I mean, you should see it. Not that uh, I’m inviting you – or saying you can’t see it, I mean, it’s a free country. And it’s a bit more  _ authentic  _ than all that la di da fanciful snooty Parisian rubbish—“

“My family is from Paris,” said the boy coolly.

“I mean, uh, there are some really nice parts of Paris. Not like the banlieues, but if you’re from the banlieues, I’m sure that’s—that’s--  so. Do you like—stuff?” he finished lamely. He flexed his fingers and felt the grass to steady himself. Why was he so flustered? He had chatted up dozens of students over the years; he was a natural flirt.

But the boy watched him with such a dreamy expression on his face, that remote and aloof. He hated it; he felt as if he should be under a magnifying glass in Professor Lightner’s curiosity cabinet, and that he must fill the silence with talk. “Yes,” said the boy eventually. “I like  _ stuff _ .”

“That’s great!” said Lestat, warming to the subject, on surer ground now. “What kind of stuff?”

The boy stared at him, perplexed. “Is there something you wanted – I’m sorry, I don’t know your name?”

“It’s Lestat,” he said eagerly. “What’s yours?”

“Louis,” said a voice from behind him. “Louis de Pointe du Lac.”

Lestat groaned. He turned to see Armand standing there, grinning wryly. “You know each other?”

Armand nodded, a serene expression of utter enjoyment on his face. “We do. Louis is my friend. I’m guiding him through Hogwarts – in my duty as a Head Boy, of course.”

“I’m sure the Ravenclaw Head can do that fine,” muttered Lestat.

“But I do so like to help,” said Armand brightly. “Maybe I could help you with something?”

Lestat grabbed Armand’s arm. “Back off, squirt!” he muttered angrily.

Armand shook him off, smiling at Louis’s confused face. “We have a study session lined up. You could join us.”

Lestat clapped his hands together. “Great! What are we studying?”

“Potions. Oh… wait. You’re not in the class.” He turned to Louis. “Lestat here isn’t the most academically gifted!” he said in a stage whisper. “You’ll have to – oof!” he cried as Lestat pushed him and sent him sprawling.

Louis gasped, reaching out a hand to Armand. “Are you all right?” He glared at Lestat. “That was uncalled for!”

“I was only joking,” he protested, flushing.

Armand picked himself up. “Yes, don’t worry. Just a little joking between friends.” He smiled coldly at Lestat. “Isn’t that right, harecatcher?”

Lestat scowled. “ _ Snitch  _ catcher!” He tossed his hair in a dignified manner and strode away dramatically, making sure that Louis would catch his best side. Before he rounded the tower, he threw a glance over his shoulder, starting when he realized that Louis was watching him with that same placid and dreamy expression as before.

 

* * *

Daniel squeaked in surprise when a strong hand clamped on his shoulder as he was jostled along the corridor to his next lesson. He muttered a protest as Lestat pulled him to one side and let the other students pass. “What is it?” he said, attempting to get past. “I’m already late for class.”

“So, my favorite Hufflepuff!” said Lestat, barring his way with an arm. “You want to be in the coven?”

“The Articulates?” Daniel frowned. “You know full well that I do.”

Lestat smiled magnanimously. “I’ll get you in, I promise.”

“Uh-huh. So tell me what you want in return.”

“Daniel, I’m shocked! Why do you think I’m so mendacious as—“

“You’re literally in Slytherin,” said Daniel, folding his arms.

Lestat shrugged. “Fair point.”

“So tell me what you want.”

Lestat grabbed his chin and tilted it to the left. “See that kid over there?”

“Armand?”

“No, you clot. The kid with the black hair, walking with him.”

“Oh, Louis.”

“Yeah, Louis. Interview him  _ for me _ . His likes, his dislikes -- his taste in boyfriends.”

Daniel took off his glasses and began polishing them with his shirt. “That -- question doesn’t tend to come up in my interviews.”

“You’ll manage it. You want in the coven, don’t you?”

Daniel heaved a sigh. “Fine.”

“Good!” said Lestat, patting him on the back. “You do this for me, you’re in.”

“But Armand said—“

“Never you mind what Armand said _. I’ll _ deal with him.” 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very short chapter which will segue into the lesson from hell for Professor Talbot (to be updated tomorrow). :)

Lestat was busy daydreaming at a table in the Gryffindor common room, his head pillowed on his arms, when a book slammed down on the table, inches from his nose. His eyes snapped open.

“You told Daniel Molloy he could be in the coven!” shrieked Armand.

Lestat raised his head and sneered. “It’s about time, isn’t it? You’ve made him wait for  _ years _ .”

“I’m the leader of the Articulates, not you!”

He laughed harshly. “Don’t make me laugh, midget! I’m totally the leader.”

“I’m the one who formed the coven!”

“And all you had were the Hogwarts weirdos. Felix?” he asked incredulously. “Santiago, that psycho! Give me a break.”

“You corrupted it!” snarled Armand. “Or did you forget the Nicki incident?”

Lestat scraped the chair back harshly and stood up, deliberately towering over his nemesis. “That was  _ one  _ mistake.”

“Well, I’m not letting you make any more mistakes,” said Armand, batting his hand away. “And stop touching my hair all the time, you lecherous creep.”

“I can’t help it. You’re adorable when you’re angry,” said Lestat, sauntering over to one of the great windows and staring into the depths of the lake. He pulled a face at a fish which regarded him with a blank expression. 

Armand sidled up to him and stood in the opposite recess. “You interfere with my plans,” he said, a foxy smile on his face. “And I’ll interfere with yours. I’m warning you.”

“Pfft, what plans?”

“You think I don’t know about your infatuation with that Ravenclaw lad?” he scoffed. “Please.”

Lestat’s eyes widened. “Listen here, you impudent imp!” he snapped, jabbing at his nemesis with a finger. “Keep your nose out of my business!”

“Then stay out of mine,” said Armand calmly. “Or else.”

They faced off silently, only breaking eye contact when the door opened and a couple of Slytherins joined them in the common room.


End file.
